Twelve
by emmy313
Summary: Jack's first birthday as a newsboy.


**May 1894**

On his last day of being eleven, Jack snuck out of the open bedroom window to sit on the fire escape. The cool metal pressed into his thighs. The hottest days were still a ways off, but the streets already stunk with garbage and manure.

In just a couple hours, Jack would be 12 years old and he wished that wasn't true. He took a deep breath and pulled his legs to his chest, resting his chin on his knees. Street lamps flickered.

This was his seventh month in the newsies lodge house. Seven months since his dad—his strong, invincible dad—had been killed falling off a wall he was building. Seven months of living elbow to elbow with dozens of hot-tempered boys who busted up each other's faces over a stolen cigar or a crude joke.

Tears burned in his throat and chest. He was glad everyone else was still asleep. "He should be here." Jack said to himself. "They should _be here_!" He swiped at his eyes. It just wasn't _right_ to be getting older without his family. It wasn't _fair_. Jack took a shaky breath, closed his eyes, and tried to see what should've been.

His red-headed baby sister Molly would have been 7 now. She'd be taller**, **of course**, **and she'd run and play jump rope with the neighbor kids. Their mother would tell her all the old Irish legends and family stories as they cooked or sewed shoulder-to-shoulder. Jack bit down on his lip. It was impossible to picture. Molly was frozen in time as a chubby, laughing baby. He could see her crawling around the apartment and feel the weight of her wiggling in his lap when he'd beg to hold her.

Ciara was one year and six days younger than him. They'd always shared a birthday celebration. If she were here, Jack knew she'd be using her endless energy and imagination to boss him and Molly around. Maybe she'd be a little calmer, a little more graceful than she was when they were little. Maybe not. Ciara should be turning eleven next week. Influenza had stolen her at 6. Birthdays now were another reminder of how much time they'd spent apart.

If his mother were still living, she'd make him and Ciara their favorite shepherd's pie from Ireland and gooey butter cake she'd learned to make back when she'd been a maid. "Stop getting so tall." She might say, and push his hair off his face. Jack thought he'd be as tall as her now, but he couldn't be sure.

The five of them would pray and eat and laugh, and his sisters would turn cartwheels in the alley. They'd never been a perfect family, but they had been whole.

Tears dripped from Jack's cheeks. He wiped them away with his shirt sleeve, and dangled his bare feet over the edge of the fire escape, like he and Ciara used to do. All across the city, little squares of light in windows proved he wasn't the only one who couldn't sleep.

"Rise and shine, fellas!" Tugboat called down the rows of bunk beds. "Finch, Woody, get a move on!"

Two of the older boys got in a fight before the sun was fully up. Apparently Mikey looked at Woody sideways while brushing his teeth. The nuns brought them coffee and then the boys walked to the distribution center to get their papes.

Jack stayed quiet, hat pulled down as he shuffled up the block.

"Hey, Jackie!" Race called. "Let's go!"

He picked up the pace just enough to catch up with his friends. Race, Tommy, Finch, and Specs, the skinny new kid, walked in a pack.

"Hey slow poke." Tommy said to Jack. "Tell this dumbass penguins can't fly."

"Of course they can!" Race gave Tommy a shove. "Theys birds, ain't they?"

"I saw a penguin at the zoo once." Specs said.

"Ohh well, ain't we fancy!" Tommy said.

"Watcha think, Jack?" Finch asked.

Jack shoved his hands deeper in his pockets. "Uh, I dunno."

They were still bickering as they got in line to buy papes.

Someone nudged his shoulder. "Mornin', kid." Tugboat said, rubbing the sleep from his eye. They paid for papes and Tugboat sat next to Jack on the curb like he always did.

"Ya doin' alright?" Tugboat asked. His long legs stretched out into the street as he folded his papes. Jack nodded and stood up. "Go soak 'em, Jack."

Jack usually sold with Race and Specs, but he trudged off to his post alone.

Tugboat was so tall he didn't need to stand on anything to get the others' attention. He whistled and they circled around him in front of an empty cart. "Good work today fellas!" He shouted over the road noise. "Now hit the road. Come with me if ya needs some supper."

A couple dozen boys dispersed for their walk back to the lodge.

"Jackie, wait up!" Race called.

"Jack!" Tugboat was behind him too.

Jack paused on a corner. Tugboat, Race, and Tommy circled around him.

"Hey, fellas." Jack said. "Ya earn a lot today?"

"Happy birthday!" Tommy burst out.

Jack's face fell. "How...how the hell did ya know?"

Tommy pointed at Race. "This idiot don't know his left from his right, but he remembers for sure y'all talked about it almost a year ago."

Jack shook his head. "Thanks but I ain't celebrating." He turned to leave.

"Wait, kid." Tugboat said. "I know this been a damn rough year for ya."

"I don't need no one's pity." Jack grumbled.

"We're ya friends!" Race said. "Ain't nobody throwing a pity party but you."

Jack froze 10 steps away. He didn't turn around but he didn't keep going.

"Listen, Jack." Tugboat said. "I ain't pitying anyone. We got ya something. Turn around."

He did. Race cautiously held up a small paper bag.

"Y'all got something for me?" Jack repeated.

"Yeah, we all chipped in a little something." Tugboat said.

"See what it is." Tommy said.

Jack took the bag. Inside was a sugar cookie and a brand new pencil.

"We got the pencil cause ya always drawing with that little nubby one." Tommy said.

Jack grinned. "Thanks fellas." He said."That was awful nice."

Tugboat gave Jack's shoulder a squeeze. "Let's head back." They started their walk home.

"Let's play poker." Tommy said.

"Maybe Tommy will even go easy on ya, Jackie." Race said. Jack took a bite of his cookie.

"Not a chance!"


End file.
